


Where Gravity Is Dead

by stone_in_focus



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Angst, Attempt at Humor, Children, Domestic Disputes, Drabble, Drabble Collection, M/M, Marriage, Poetry, Romance, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-03-06 07:34:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 6,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3126281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stone_in_focus/pseuds/stone_in_focus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A hodgepodge of Mshenko drabbles I wrote on Tumblr a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away. I suppose I'm dumping them here for posterity. Or something. (Fair warning, some of them are terrible.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Future in a Handshake

Commander John Shepard doesn't realize it yet, just shy of thirty and scars still relatively few in number, but there are a lot of things he doesn't know when he first hits the decks of the SSV  _Normandy._

Aside from the newly polished onyx armor and his prized custom shotgun, he comes armed only with two expectations—one, that nothing ever goes as planned; and two, that the food will only be one step up from the cakes of mud encrusted on the soles of their boots.

He'll be right on both counts, of course. Which means there will be an endless string of wrongs—some of them his own mistakes, some of them messes others created, and all of them his responsibility.

But some things, he won't mind taking credit for someday. Like being the first to stick out a hand and extend an offer of camaraderie to the soldier quietly manning his workstation, who won't feel comfortable making more than a stiff salute or reverent nod for another several weeks.

Lieutenant Kaidan Alenko isn't one to stand out at initial glance. Even after Shepard encourages a little laxness and the lieutenant assumes the casual military stance, his feet remain steeled in place with hands tightly clasped behind his back. He often doesn't speak unless spoken to, and it will require a handful of awkward conversations for Shepard to understand his tendency to use reserved tones is a sign of careful contemplation and respect rather than an indication of aloofness.

After all, there's only so much a dossier can tell someone, and Shepard, while he knows enough to avoid a bullet in the ass, is never as good at reading a person as he likes to think. The file on the Alliance sentinel boasts of several special commendations, of "extraordinary potential" and "exceptional perseverance despite overwhelming odds," but words...words mean nothing until they become flesh.

"Extraordinary," for these two, starts when that second palm slides up against the first and fingers lock into place. They exchange the token "good to meet you" and "looking forward to serving with you" cordialities, of course, but they're giving away more than just a gesture of good will with a firm pump of the hands. They're giving away their lives.

Shepard has already come to terms with the possibility that he'll one day have to sacrifice himself for the other man. What he isn't quite prepared for, however, is learning that there are more ways of giving one's life unto another than through mere duty and obligation.

One day, it'll be as much about giving his life as sharing it.

One day, he'll know the heated pangs in his gut, murderous and razor-sharp, when he hears Alenko cry out in pain—and the fervent clenches in his groin when he hears him cry out in ecstasy.

In time, though there's so little of it, Shepard will come to realize just how much he doesn't know—and how much he  _wants_ to know—about the man standing before him. But right now, all they have is this moment of steady eye contact and a solid handshake.

Even so, Shepard picks up on something unexpected as hands fall back to their sides. Alenko is the first person in a long while who hasn't brought up Akuze when being introduced to the commander.

Sometimes, it's less about what a person says and more about what he doesn't choose to say.

Along with a fixed grip and strong shake, it'll be the first reasons of many Shepard has to trust this man more than most—until he breathes his last.


	2. Eyes Wide Shut

1.

There aren’t many moments you’re going to catch the commander with his eyes shut.

Even at zero three hundred, the corner of his right eye twitches, and you swear he’s trying to get away with sleeping with one eye pried open, one hand under the pillow and two inches away from a finger around the trigger of a readied pistol. You ask him later if it’s really necessary, even after having listened to the countless number of conspiracy theories he’s spun up over the years (not all of them have turned out to be true), and Shepard looks up from his datapad long enough to give a courtesy glance.

“Collectors, Kaidan. _Collectors._ ”

Yeah, you’ve heard that story more than a few times, too.

A few nights after you start making routine visits to the cabin, you notice the pistol’s moved to the equipment locker.

Shepard says he’s found a better use for his trigger-happy finger.

2.

Sometimes, though, he doesn’t pull it fast enough. No one can, but you know it’s the only thought coursing through his mind as the _Normandy_ leaves Thessia behind.

You find him in the wee hours of the morning, not remembering the last time his eyes were shut so damn tight, head bowed and one hand cupped against the forehead with the other molded around a bottle of scotch. You talk him down and pick him up, letting him pull your arm around him as bodies slide out of clothes and slip between sheets.

Shepard says he hates gravity. “Never can depend on it.”

You say he’ll never be able to fall so far that no one can catch him.

3.

Later, you’re the one with your head bowed and eyes shut tight, sitting in a chair that’s already been replaced once because you can’t replace a life that’s too damn short to begin with.

But for now, what takes place within these four walls will have to be enough. You curl his hand around yours, kissing those fingers that could use a little more luck these days, counting the number of heartbeats that blip across the monitor because you can’t put a cheek to the chest, talking to fill the empty spaces where he can’t talk back.

Hoping where no hope is left that you’ll see those old blue eyes again.


	3. Gasoline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by [this](http://crowthis.tumblr.com/post/34007767383/im-sorry-but-i-really-wanted-shepard-to-put-his).

Shepard burns hot. And Kaidan’s like gasoline.

It starts with a spark. One small flicker like the end of Shepard’s cigarette, a smoldering orange against a moonlit sky. Shepard takes another drag, and time exhales right along with him. Not too slow and not too fast. When someone like Shepard rubs up against someone like Kaidan, like flint against steel, you can never be too careful.

Kaidan’s fingers brush over Shepard’s chapped knuckles. “You’re freezing,” he says. “Want my sweater?”

The boy’s playing with fire, and Shepard’s not keen on lecturing.

“Nah.” Shepard takes one more puff and flicks away his cigarette, sending off the last wafts of smoke before the snap freeze sets in and breaths run cold.

But Kaidan’s like gasoline, baby.

“Or…yeah. Maybe.”

The city’s set ablaze with vibrant lanterns and flashing carnival lights, but these two don’t give a shit—they’re starting a fire of their own. There’s a warmth in Kaidan’s belly as Shepard leans into him, knees scraping against loose gravel, fingernails against loosened belts. Soft mouths aren’t much good with resistance, but Shepard sure as hell knows he can count on friction.

Kaidan says he can still taste the tobacco on Shepard’s lips, and Kaidan’s sweater still smells of incense as Shepard’s arms burrow underneath the tightly woven threads. Shepard kisses Kaidan at the patch of skin between his ear and the square of his jaw, sweat beading at the hairline and heat licking stubble.

But Shepard’s one tough S.O.B., and he ain’t giving up until this fever breaks.


	4. Angry Jellies

Sometimes when I attempt to write Mshenko drabbles, I feel like Shepard just wants to be that perpetual seven-year-old.

Like during downtime when Kaidan just wants to take it slow (and knows Shepard _needs_ to take it slow), he can’t get Shepard to stay still for more than five minutes. Except that one time Shepard is glued to his datapad for a week when he finds a download of _Angry Jellies_ (to promote the next _Blasto_ movie, of course).

Naturally, the first thing he does is complain about how it doesn’t have enough guns, but it’s not long before Shepard’s up in bed until 1 a.m. trying to beat the next level and grumbling at the screen with a not-so-seven-year-old mouth.

Shepard doesn’t even look up when he hears Kaidan walk into the bedroom and sigh. “I can’t believe you’re still playing that damn thing.”

“If catapulting a hanar into a bunch of unsuspecting elcor is wrong, then I don’t want to be right, Kaidan.”

Kaidan attempts to ask how, exactly, a hanar could bowl over an elcor.

“ _Dismissively:_  I don’t need your logic, Major.”

“That’s too bad,” Kaidan says as he unzips his jeans and tosses them in the hamper. “Because most of my logic’s caught in my underwear right now, and I was really hoping you’d give me a…debriefing.”

Shepard never plays _Angry Jellies_ again.

He does, however, password-protect a very important file the next day: _Sweetpickuplines.doc_


	5. Simple Math

One stubbed toe, two liquor-soaked livers, and nearly three lives later, it’s crazy how you ever got here, burrowed between too many decorative throw pillows and bunched up sheets that never get pulled back. The pants never find their way onto the floor, either. Tonight of all nights, you’re working with nothing but thumbs, struggling to undo belt buckles and wrangle loose a pair of ties. There are safes easier to hack than the buttons on his shirt, but for once, it’s okay to give up and bury a messy, drawn-out snort in his chest, laughing without regard for whoever might be unfortunate enough to be on the other side of the wall.

After all, you have all the time in the galaxy now.

Good thing, too, because there’s still a quarter of a bottle of vintage scotch that neither of you plan on letting go to waste.

“Why’d you marry me?” you say a little after you’ve polished off the last sip. It’s more of a murmur, an exhale against a scruffed up neck where traces of aftershave still linger. You know you already know the answer a thousand times over, but that doesn’t stop you from fiddling with the band on your ring finger. Just to make sure it’s still there.

Taking it all in is a bigger head rush than any number of stiff drinks.

“Because,” he says, rolling into you, and you think he’s about to drift off as eyelids start to droop. “I like it when things make sense. When two plus two equals…”

“Four?”

You nudge him with an elbow, and he sniffs awake. “Yeah. Yeah, see, you’re good at that. Making sense of things. The times you weren’t around, things…things didn’t make sense as easy. Like two plus two made up some number I couldn’t even fucking count to. Head’s gonna hurt like fucking hell in the morning, but that doesn’t even matter because you just…you just make sense to me, Kaidan. Only fucking thing that’s ever made any sense.”

It’s not long till you hear the first snore against your shoulder, but there’s no countdown till zero five hundred like late nights in years past. Instead, you measure the spaces between index and middle finger, from thumb to pinky, two sets of knuckles adding up to something that would never be divisible.


	6. Tastes Like Chicken

Kaidan rocked back on his heels, then rolled onto the balls of his feet again, eyes traveling back and forth between the faded apartment number and the welcome mat on the floor. Shepard had been keeping score, as he often did when something other than his scruffed-up mug had Kaidan's attention. Two points for the 319 and seven points for the kitschy image of a cat-like creature that looked a little more terrifying than welcoming. "So...this is the place, right?"

"Yeah," Shepard said, the word cutting short in his throat as he released a sigh—a sigh that felt as heavy as the metal plates in his legs and just about as long as the minutes they'd spent standing at the end of an empty hallway. "This is where she told me to meet."

"Shouldn't we see if anyone's home?"

"Nope. Got strict orders not to make a move until she shows up." Shepard let his back hit the wall as he scrolled through his messages once more, checking and rechecking the agreed time and location, skimming a palm across a freshly-shaved scalp as he perused for details he knew he hadn't missed.

_Hey, Shep,_

_We never really had the chance to get back in touch after the war. If you have a free night, I think it's about time I had you try a bowl of my grandmother's homemade ramen. Consider it a way of saying thanks for, you know, destroying the Reapers and everything. Bring biotic boy, too—and congratulations, by the way. I wish I could've been at the reception. Garrus tells me I missed out on a rather enlightening demonstration of krogan marriage rites, seeing as you are part krogan now._

_Kasumi_

"She knows I hate noodles. All floppy and limp and slimy. I'd rather eat a rock-hard protein bar."

Shepard made a face, and Kaidan shot back a look that made him feel six years old again. "Be nice; she offered to make dinner for us."

There was also a part of Shepard that felt fifteen years old again after reflecting upon his telling choice of adjectives. Maybe he'd try a line on Kaidan later and see what kind of groan it'd earn him. Both kinds, if he was lucky.

"Nah, there's a catch. There's always a catch," Shepard went on to insist as he glanced about from one corner to another, searching for even the tiniest scintillation of light, one that might give away the invisible contours of a cloaking device. "She's probably listening in on us right now."

And right on cue, she glittered into existence, the familiar dab of plum smiling from underneath a darkened hood. "I've seen what your idea of ramen is, Shep."

"Shep?" Kaidan arched an eyebrow, and Shepard shrugged it off. He never understood the need for a nickname, either, but at least it wasn't one coined by Vega.

"If you're nuking it in a non-biodegradable cup, you're doing it wrong. My grandmother's recipe may just change your life."

"Uh, huh." Shepard crossed his arms. "Spill it, Kasumi. Why'd you really bring us here?"

"I'm hurt, Shep. I promised you dinner, and I intend on fulfilling that promise. It's the least I can do for the man..." she nodded towards Kaidan, "men...who helped save the galaxy."

"But?"

And then came the pause. "There... _is_ a slight matter we need to take care of first," she said.

Shepard rolled his head towards Kaidan. " _Here_ we g—" 

Kaidan elbowed him in the side.

"It won't take long. I just need you to be a distraction while I do a little...reconnaissance."

"This won't end with my ass getting shot down by a Mantis, will it? I left my gun at home—in case you haven't heard, I'm retired."

"You, Shep? Retired? Nobody deserves it more than you, but I find that hard to believe, at least entirely."

Kaidan grunted under his breath. "The dead rabbits in our backyard find it hard to believe, too."

"They were rooting through our _cabbage,_ Kaidan."

"You won't need guns," Kasumi said, steering back on track a conversation that was three seconds away from a gritted _Not now, babe_ and a couple of thinly-stretched grins to hide the furtive glares. "Gods, no, nothing like that."

"So what is it?"

"My grandmother has a culinary repertoire she's both proud of and very protective of. Some recipes have been in the family for hundreds of years. I'm family, and she won't even let _me_ touch them." A smirk hooked onto the corner of her mouth. "She knows me better than that, I suppose."

Shepard watched as she sauntered past and buzzed the door. "But she loves you, Shep. She put an autographed holo of you on the mantle right next to all her relatives. All you have to do is keep an old woman company for a short while."

"You mean babysit."

"It won't be more than a few minutes. I'll signal you when I've found what I need. And who knows? Maybe you'll get along splendidly. She can be a sweet little thing when she wants to be."

At the sound of footsteps, Kasumi flickered back out of sight, leaving Kaidan and Shepard to exchange puzzled expressions.

"We're stealing from her grandmother?"

"Wait, there's a holo of me on the mantle?"

_Bleep-whoosh._

When the door slid open, there stood a four-foot eight and rather rotund woman, silver-streaked hair drawn back in a bun and dark eyes blinking straight at them. Not exactly what Shepard had pictured, but in all fairness, nothing about that day was going quite as expected.

Shepard sensed a nudge from Kaidan. "Say something."

"Uh...hi."

Blink.

"I'm...Commander Shepard, and this is— _oof!_ "

He nearly keeled over as a pair of arms hugged him at the waist, unable to interpret the woman's exuberant squawking. Partly because her head had burrowed into his torso and partly because his translating software was currently on the fritz. If he had to wager a guess, the dialect sounded like some bizarre Japanese-Italian hybrid. Apparently heavier on the Italian.

"Looks like you've got a fan."

Shepard could only hope that all thirty-three wrinkles and scars furrowing his face were accurately conveying to Kaidan just how much he would  _despise_ him if he dared rub it in.

Maybe this mission didn't require guns, but with a vice grip like that, he sure would've felt safer with one. Actually, he was almost impressed. Tough old bird.

Kasumi's grandmother led them through an apartment that was a bit too low in the ceiling and a little too warm for Shepard's comfort, but that didn't stop the woman from being hospitable. She boiled them tea and brought them small pastries; opened up the family albums and showed off her long line of relatives who had served. Kaidan attempted to translate for Shepard where possible, although a significant amount of her gushing involved bouts of bashful giggling and a few affectionate pinches of Shepard's cheeks.

"She wants to know if you like the dessert."

Shepard liked the pastries but didn't like the pinching so much.

Exactly seven minutes and forty-nine seconds later—not that he had been keeping track or anything—his omni-tool chimed with a new message:

_Got it. Let's go._

Just as Kaidan finished his last sip of tea—even had his pinky poised, too, the dork—Shepard nodded towards the door. He almost felt bad for concocting some "top secret" excuse for leaving, but he also felt pretty strongly about not losing the feeling in his cheeks.

"What's that?" Shepard asked Kaidan after initiating goodbyes and receiving another earful of excited babbling.

"She more or less said that she's very honored to have met us and that we're welcome back at any time." Kaidan leaned closer. "And that I have a nice, uh...butt. The rest...you're probably better off not knowing."

"Hey, listen, grandma. See the ring? He's take—"

"I think what the commander  _means_ to say is that you have a lovely home, and he thanks you for your generosity."

Back outside, Kasumi was waiting for them. "Did I miss anything good?"

"Your grandmother is way too fond of cheeks," Shepard said, rubbing his face. "Both kinds."

Kaidan shook his head. "You do realize that just because your translator is malfunctioning doesn't mean the other person can't understand you, right?"

"What?" Kasumi waved her hand. "Never mind; forget I asked. I'm sure I'll hear all the juicy details soon enough."

Best idea Shepard had heard all day. He put his weight on one knee, folding his arms. "Just tell us you got what you came for."

"Of course." She smiled, then beckoned them towards the taxi stand. "How do you expect me to make ramen without the recipe?"

One he figured she was out of earshot, Shepard grumbled, "I still hate noodles. Maybe even more now."

Kaidan elbowed him in the side for the second time that day. And harder, too, causing Shepard to comment that he should save some of that pent-up energy for after dinner.

"Only if you behave," Kaidan said, unable to hide the slight tease catching at the end of his sentence.

Shepard thought that not behaving was the point.

Six and a half bowls of ramen and eleven cups of sake later, the two more-tired-than-retired soldiers meandered their way back through the city, bellies full and eyes glinting of something more than just the vibrantly-colored lanterns lining the streets. Shepard would've preferred something he could sink his teeth into—and something that didn't require a more dexterous handle on chopsticks—but for a bunch of flimsy noodles, he admitted they were sitting pretty snug at the bottom of a satisfied stomach. Almost as snug as Shepard fit in next to Kaidan, roughed-up knuckles sliding into cupped palms, one hand slipping into the other like a key into its lock.

"You know," Kaidan said, slowing his pace and scuffing the sole of his shoe against concrete, "it really shouldn't surprise me anymore, but you have a real knack for running into some interesting people, Shepard. Sometimes..."

And then Kaidan exhaled that sigh that only Kaidan could pull off—one that Shepard had done well to recognize long ago—understated and under the breath, yet pregnant with one too many lingering thoughts. "Sometimes, it makes me wonder why you picked me."

Shepard sniffed, brushing a thumb across his nose as he tried to cover a smirk about to sprout. With nearly five years, countless early mornings over that sludge they called coffee and almost as many late nights under rumpled sheets behind them, he didn't need a working translator to tell him that Kaidan wasn't asking out of persistent doubts. Kaidan—in his own language—was simply expressing how lucky he felt.

But if anything, Shepard should've been the one posing the question to Kaidan.

"Because," Shepard said, "in our line of work, 'interesting' usually means crazy. And after all the crazy...it's good to have something normal to come back to."

For the next several steps, he let his weight fall into Kaidan, knowing that sturdy shoulder was there but needing to feel it all the same. It was never an entirely deliberate act, nor one made in full awareness. Although recruitment ads and tribute vids touted Shepard as a beacon of hope, truth was, most days, he felt more like the moon than the sun—a subtle reflection of those around him, those that filled in the hollow spaces in his cheeks and the shadows beneath his brow with their glow.

Certain things were laws of nature, like gravity pulling one object towards another in perfect orbit. One set of lungs inevitably matching the rise and fall of another.

"Mmm, normal." Shepard heard the way Kaidan savored the word, the way he let it roll over in his mouth as his thumb traced along the circular of Shepard's palm. "That soft place to land, huh?"

"Yeah. Especially after someone tries to use you as grandmother bait."

Kaidan snorted. "You almost looked like you were going to take that old lady down after she hit on me."

"I'd still fight her if I had to."

"You really know how to make a guy swoon, don't you, Shep?"

Shepard quirked an eyebrow. "You're calling me that now?"

"I'm warming up to it. Or maybe that's just the sake."

"Feeling a little flushed, Kaidan?"

A sheepish grin turned Kaidan's scarlet-tinged cheeks a couple shades redder as Shepard reached over to loosen the knot in his scarf, a trick that Kaidan mentioned wasn't as sly the seventeenth time around.

"Not that I would ever discourage it," Kaidan added after Shepard had pulled him close with a gentle tug of the wrist, noses grazing day-old stubble and lips chasing away the cooled night air.

"Mmm. You taste like chicken."

Kaidan laughed that low chuckle that always set off a fevered shudder in Shepard's worn-out old bones. "Like I said, Shepard.  _Swoon._ "

One forehead fell against the other, hard lines softening and slack jaws tightening, Shepard closing his eyes against the heat that burned bright and fierce.

Sometimes, they were both like the sun.


	7. Grumpy!Kaidan is the best Kaidan. I literally can't think of a better title than that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes Kaidan says the most ridiculous things during super serious scenes *cough*Horizon*cough*, and I have to make fun of him for it. Of course, I only end up making myself sound more ridiculous in the process.

It's not for another half hour that Kaidan finally stumbles down the stairs, stubble all the way down his neck, hair jutting out to one side, white tee stuck in the back of his briefs. Shepard's pretty sure his shirt is on inside-out, too, but he decides not to say anything, instead hiding a smirk behind his cup of coffee. "Morning."

"Mrrrrnnnin," is all Kaidan manages to mumble in response, making a beeline for the coffee maker. Shepard also decides not to tell Kaidan that he's reaching for a bowl instead of a mug, but he'll figure it out soon enough.

Though probably not till after ruining a perfectly good serving of cereal. 

Shepard can only watch him bumble about in the kitchen for so long, however, before he points out, "There's leftover blueberry muffins by the toaster."

The bowl containing the unfortunate concoction of bran and coffee rattles a little louder than expected as Kaidan dumps it in the sink. "You know I  _hate_ blueberry."

Yes, Shepard  _did_ know. Ever since the first time he had made the comment that his husband's well-formed ass looked like a pair of giant radioactive blueberries.

It had also been the last time.

Kaidan retreats to the fridge, standing with doors open for a solid minute before Shepard speaks up again. "Oh...we're out of milk."

Just as he slurps up another spoonful of cornflakes.

The fridge doors shut without a word, and Kaidan ends up snatching a muffin before slumping into a chair—on the  _far_ end, Shepard notes—and slapping down his datapad onto the table.

Shepard pretends to stifle a yawn in order to conceal a grin, stretching his arms and easing back into his seat as Kaidan proceeds to browse the headlines. Quiet mornings at breakfast have always been one of his favorite parts of the day. Often, they had been his only chance at a few moments of peace before barreling headfirst into the next mission.

But now, with the warmth of the rising sun at his back and a slight breeze fluttering through the curtains, he has all the time in the world. Only thing that makes these mornings better is having a mate to share them with.

Even a grumpy one who may or may not be appreciating the gentle nudges of Shepard's big toe. Which Kaidan not  _quite_ as gently reminds him needs to be trimmed.

Shepard takes another sip of his coffee. "So what do you think about what I said last night? Do you even remember what I said last night?"

"You mean before or after I couldn't get back to sleep because  _someone_ wouldn't stop elbowing me awake and because  _someone_ wouldn't stop snoring like a damn krogan with a godawful cold?"

Kaidan glowers at him, but Shepard has absolutely no qualms about poking the bear. "How do you know krogan snore? Do I  _want_ to know how you—"

"Forget it, Shepard. And yes, I do remember."

To be honest, Shepard doesn't completely remember the conversation himself, though he believes it started off with him blurting out he wanted a girl and nearly ended with Kaidan's half-asleep retort: "Should've thought of that before you married me."

Not exactly what Shepard had meant.

Kaidan sighs, setting down his mug. "I want a kid just as much as you do, but...it's a lot to think about. A lot to plan."

"And that's stopped us before?"

"It's not an excuse, Shepard. Just that we can't hit the ground running with this like everything else. I mean, what would her last name even be?"

Shepard shrugs. "We could combine our names."

"What, like hyphenate them?"

"Or just combine them into one. Like...I don't know. Shenko, I guess."

"Shenko? Really?" Kaidan scoffs, shaking his head. "Yeah, that doesn't sound weird at all. And why does your name get to be first?"

Shepard thinks for a moment. "What, and have it be Alepard instead? It sounds like a fucking leopard. As in the anim—"

"I know what a damn leopard is."

"So then you know what they say about leopards..."

The datapad drops from his fingers. "Don't even go there, Shepard."

"Leopards can't change their spots."

Kaidan blows a huff of air through his nose, slowly and deliberately, as he squares his shoulders and then scoots back from the table.

"They just...they just can't, Kaidan."

Footsteps tromp—Shepard's sure they could be heard form any corner of the house—as Kaidan makes his way back up the stairs.

"You can try taking the cat out of the jungle, but you can't take the jungle out of the cat!"

Shepard's given nothing more than the middle finger salute.

Oh, he'll pay for this later, all right.

But  _so_ worth it.

He leans over and picks Kaidan's datapad up, keying in a search for toy stuffed animals.

He suddenly has an idea for the perfect first gift for their future daughter.


	8. Commando Shepard

“You know,” Shepard says, rolling up cuff of his shirt, “if I wanted to draw attention to myself, I’d just bring a loaded shotgun. Looks better on me, too.”

Kaidan pokes his head out of the bathroom, hairs crimpled wet, toothbrush in one hand and towel in the other. “You know how clothes are kind of Mom’s…love language.”

Shepard butts in front of the sink, narrowly avoiding a spit wad of toothpaste as he reaches for the cologne. “Turning someone cross-eyed isn’t love, Kaidan.”

A minute later, the toothbrush is traded out for a nose hair trimmer. Towel plops onto the floor. Shepard thinks Kaidan has the right idea. ”Why can’t we just go naked?”

“Because…that would make for a very awkward dinner with my parents?”

“Wouldn’t make them nearly as blind as this sh—”

“All right, Shepard. Got it. I’ll tell her no more paisley.”

Shepard’s grin disappears with a towel to the face.

Smells like Kaidan and vanilla.

At eighteen thirty, Kaidan finally rushes down the stairs, hair sporting a more _au naturel_ look as opposed to the standard slick-back. Shepard’s insides are just about as twisty as Kaidan’s curls, but Shepard’s not going to let it go to Kaidan’s head just yet. Better to save it for part of a strategy to get his fingers in it later. “You and your hair ready to go?” Shepard asks.

“Well, one more thing…” Shepard groans when Kaidan hands him a bundle of cashmere. “She, uh…also bought you another sweater. To go with the shirt.”

“If I didn’t know how hard your ass can blush, I’d swear your entire family was cold-blooded.” Shepard pulls the cashmere over his head, anyway, feeling like the wool’s been pulled over his eyes. He’s pretty sure there were no mention of sweaters before till death do us part, but then again, wearing a stuffy shirt doesn’t sound so bad next to wearing six feet of dirt.

“Look at it this way,” Kaidan says, hooking a scarf around Shepard’s neck and kissing him while noses are still warm. “Think of how much fun you’ll have taking it off later.”

It’s not fair when Kaidan starts talking logic. “Fine. As long as she doesn’t start buying me underwear.”

Shepard catches Kaidan side-eyeing him. “Why would that even be an issue?”

“Shouldn’t be.” He shrugs, zipping up his jacket as the two of them head out into the brisk night air. “Just don’t tell her I’m going commando.”


	9. Distinguished

  


The photos come in on your birthday—the ones Kaidan insisted on getting done professionally after you finally admitted that, okay, maybe it was time to replace the picture of you and him at the _Blasto!_ premiere ten years ago. Personally, you think anything where you’re wearing suits constitutes as “professional,” but Kaidan seems to have this idea that it doesn’t count when you’ve been photobombed by a hanar.

It doesn’t dawn on you until you’re scrolling through the prints that lazy Sunday afternoon, the sun at your back with a cooling wind over English Bay while your husband pokes at a couple of seasoned steaks on the grill. And Kaidan…Kaidan looks good. Damn good. Well, he always does, but you’re specifically meaning the pictures where he’s got the hair slicked back and the clean-shaven jawline like he did when you first knew him. He groans when you make the comment that you’re not sure if it’s him or the meat that’s sizzling more, but that doesn’t stop you from making a mental note (and maybe even a whistle) when he turns back around that some things just can’t be captured on camera.

But seeing yourself in those photos…there’s something funny about it, and not just the crook of your nose. Because in all honesty, you never thought you’d make it this far—the drawn out creases in the brow, the crinkles at your eyes, the flecks of grey at the temple.

Not sure how well it suits you.

Pointing this out earns you a gentle jab in the side. “Hey, I was going grey years before you ever did, Shepard, so you have no right to talk.”

"Yeah, but that just made you look distinguished, Kaidan." You wink as he passes you a bottle of your favorite dark ale. "Always did have a thing for older men."

“‘Distinguished’ is just a fancy word for old.”

"Guess we can be distinguished together, then, huh?"

It’s barely noticeable, but you still hear the hitch in his breath when the bottleneck pauses at his lips, his arm going lax as his eyes linger in your direction a little longer. “Yeah, Shepard. Guess we can.” He clinks his beer against yours. “Guess we are.”

Bed comes early that night when the joints and the muscles start acting up again, and Kaidan works them back into shape the way he’s always done; the way his hands have always been there to put you back together.

"Happy birthday, Shepard."

There’s a slight rumble in your chest as you snort to yourself, a smile working its way onto your lips.

Commander Shepard just might die of old age yet.


	10. heliopause

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this small and rather odd assortment of drabbles. :) And now to end on something completely different...

in the small hours of the morning, when the  
spine stiffens and the neck arches back—

this is what it means to stand at the edge of the universe.

few dare to tread where the stars no longer light a path, and  
yet you

—you followed him.

you closed your eyes and listened to the echoes  
of his heart, and it led you to a place where the darkness  
bows in and cradles your head, turning cold  
the sweat on your brow till you can no longer feel the warmth  
of his breath at your ear.

your muscles tense; the jaw aches,  
locked and loaded,  
finger poised at the trigger  
for what’s to come.  
and still, you find yourself  
on your knees and two breaths too short; a body running on one  
heart can’t carry the

weight  
of a man who carries the weight of a hundred planets,

but his soul and yours be damned if you leave it behind.

his gnarled hands fumble along your thighs;  
you put a palm at his breast,  
and you know in that moment, you need both need something,

_anything,_

to grasp,  
to kiss,  
to touch.

hold on—

you have to _hold on—_

but it hits you first  
in the back of the mouth,  
square in the chest,  
deep in your groin.

you hear his guttural cry,  
and the spirits abandon him

—even the heat will forsake the sun and reduce it to dust.

but you will not find rest  
until the wind in your lungs spreads his ashes  
and guides them,  
as you were guided before,

to a soft place  
to land.


End file.
